It had not, sadly, helped him figure out that his ex-wife had been sleeping with nearly everyone who had a dick, a pulse, and a good credit rating. That blindsided him as surely as she’d been blindsided by an autonomous-drive UPS glider. Life’s a quirky bitch like that.
On a busy Friday morning he climbed into the sparring ring with a new training partner. A black guy with a shaved head and cat’s eye implants that were supposed to psych people out. Fix rarely looked at an opponent’s eyes. Bad fighters don’t know where to look and good fighters use their eyes to fool you. As Fix and his sparring partner—Owl— began moving around, Fix watched the other guy’s body.
They moved in a counter-clockwise circle, Owl moving forward with a rocking motion, shifting weight between front and back leg with a lot of springy tension.
He’s either a jumper or kicker. Or both.
Owl tried a few experimental jabs to try and provoke a counterpunch from Fix. That was telling. When Owl jabbed there was nothing behind the blows. They were light and fast, but he wasn’t even trying to hit. Not a boxer, Fix decided. A boxer who could kick moved differently than a kicker who could throw a punch. Boxers had pride in their jabs, and there was always something to them. There was often a momentary set of body mass to make sure all of the PSI went down the arm and into the other guy instead of the way this guy did it. When Fix blocked Owl’s jabs the lack of weight placement caused some of the force to recoil against his own mass, and Owl rocked back each time.
Fix filed that away.
Sometimes a good boxer will pivot, even on a jab. Not a lot, but just enough and at high speed to make sure there was some authority to even the lightest punch.
Couple more jabs and he’s going to kick, thought Fix. A low Thai kick to the thighs. Something to keep me from outpacing him.
It was inevitable. Owl jabbed, jabbed, faked, jabbed, and then kicked. A Muay Thai shin kick. Very, very fast.
Fix evaded it because he saw it coming yesterday. He could have swept the man right there and then. He could also have J-stepped into him, checked the kick on his hip, and done some of what his old coach had called “neighborhood work”—a series of body blows designed to bruise the ribs so bad that breathing would take too much effort. Fighters who lose their wind lose their fights. Owl was good, but he wasn’t good enough for Gameworld.
Some of the trainers and staff were wandering around, watching the sparring matches. Out of the corner of his eye, Fix saw Chiba come in, and that split second of inattention earned him a creditable front kick to the gut. Fix rode it backward, letting the kick spend its force as a push, and then he danced sideways and let Owl chase him until Fix caught his breath.
Owl seemed to think he was winning the fight because he charged after Fix with a series of mid-height kicks that would have done a lot of damage had any of them landed. Fix worked his way backward and around, not letting the kicks drive him to the edge of the ring but instead tapping the incoming legs and using the force of his taps to power sideways cuts and jags. The kicks were very fast and as Owl got more frustrated the kicks carried more power. Too much. Fast kicks using snap were okay for a flurry, but heavier smashing and thrusting kicks used more of the kicker’s body mass to deliver them, and that drained energy. Fast. Owl was sweating heavily and the match clock said they’d been going for only two minutes.
Then Owl’s frustration overwhelmed his common sense and he tried to close the deal with a huge, max-power spinning heel kick. Had it connected it would have knocked out Fix and everyone he was related to.
But it was too big a kick for a match like this. Fix could have gone out for a sandwich and a cup of coffee and been back before that spin brought Owl’s heel anywhere near his intended target. The problem was Owl had committed so heavily to it that Fix was going to have to dent him to keep this from getting truly ugly.
Fuck.
He stepped in, chin tucked, shoulder hunched and checked the spin at its source by jamming hard against the thigh. It was where the spin was most vulnerable. And, because there was no other way of wrapping this up, he did some neighborhood work.
He could see the look of confusion and then understanding in Owl’s eyes as the man realized how badly he had underestimated his opponent. Fix was in his late thirties and his hair was prematurely salt-and-pepper. Bad posture and scar tissue made him look like someone who’d been living the hard life. He looked older, slower and smaller than he actually was.
Owl went down to knees and palms, choking and gagging and trying to breathe. Fix sighed and stepped back, feeling sorry for the man.
When he turned away he immediately stopped because Sake Chiba was standing ten feet behind him. The big sumo wrestler was smoking a fat Europan cigar and grinning.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
3
They were in Chiba’s office, which was the size of most hotel lobbies, seated on opposite sides of a huge hardwood desk that must have cost a fortune to ship all the way out here, where everything was plastic or metal. One wall was filled with shelves crammed with trophies and awards from Chiba’s days as a pro wrestler. The opposite wall was a massive glass aquarium in which transgenically-designed mermaids swam. There were harsh laws about human-animal hybridization, but Fix thought that the upper halves of each mermaid was a real adolescent girl. There was a vague look of self-aware horror in the oversized eyes of the swimming creatures. It was appalling.
Behind the desk was a wall safe with a massive steel door and a complex locking mechanism set with several kinds of biometric scanners. Fix longed to raid that safe, but there was no chance in the universe that he’d ever even glimpse what was inside. More than he’d ever need in ten lifetimes. Shit, even if that vault was stacked floor to ceiling with currency it couldn’t be more than a drop of piss to someone like Chiba. The man was worth—according to the financial news—six point six trillion dollars. His beer money would pay every bill Fix would ever have and still leave enough to buy Texas.
Chiba waved him to a seat and poured them both a good knock of gin over frozen cherries.
“That was a very interesting exhibition,” said Chiba as he settled into his own massive chair.
“Just a sparring match, sir. Owl’s got some nice moves. Made me work for it.”
Chiba grinned. “Bullshit. I saw eleven separate times where you could have hurt him and you didn’t. I could see that you didn’t. Not until he gave you no choice.”
Fix sipped his drink, said nothing. Waited.
“Why not?” asked Chiba.
“Just a sparring match,” Fix repeated.
“Ah,” said Chiba, brightening. “You didn’t want to go all out because there were no stakes.”
“That’s part of it, sure.”
“Let me guess the rest. There were other fighters in the room. You didn’t want to school them on how you really fight.”
Fix nodded. “That’s about it, boss.”
Chiba swallowed half his drink and sat crunching a cherry, his eyes studying Fix. “You’re ex-army?”
“Yes. Been out for a while now.”
“Special Forces, as I understand it.”
“Sure.”
“Where did you see action?”
“Here and there. Lot’s been going on around the system. Mostly by the time they sent us in things had either gone to hell or cooled down. The movies they make glamorize it, but we didn’t do anything too crazy.”
“Oh? It’s my understanding you were a team leader when SpecOps breached the prison ship after it had been taken over by the inmates.”
Fix said nothing. The records of that mission were sealed. No one outside of the military high command should be able to read that file.
Chiba continued, “Then there was the Rubio Cartel on Mars that got wiped out virtually overnight. And the rescue of the ambassador and her entire staff. A twelve-man team goes in and saves the lives of eighty-six people in a hot zone. One hundred and seventeen hostiles dead. Shall I go on?”
“Guess you don’t have to.”
The big man nodded. “And now you’re here.”
“Now I’m here.”
“And why is that, Mr. Fix?”
“If you know everything about me, then you already know why I’m here.”
“Fair enough,” conceded Chiba. “You have three kids. Your wife is dead and you are sinking in debt. Your youngest—is her name Daisy?”
“Daisy,” said Fix hoarsely.
“Daisy. She has cancer. Your health coverage doesn’t begin to stretch far enough to cover the medical bills. Not if you can get her into the new treatment program in Stockholm. You could never hope to beg, borrow or steal that much money.”
Fix said nothing.
“So, while I can understand what might have made you look in my direction—I am known as a generous employer and fight purses will stretch far enough to provide for your family—why risk it? You can’t earn enough money if you’re dead.”
“Actually,” said Fix, “I can.”
“Life insurance policy?”
“Yeah. With an off-world danger clause. The way I figure it, either I earn enough and bring the cash home, or I die trying and my estate planner and lawyer make sure Daisy and the other kids are taken care of. As long as I fight, I can’t really lose.”
“You’re not afraid of dying?”
Fix was prepared to lie, because he lied a lot. He didn’t give Chiba a lie in answer to that question.
“Of course I am. But I’m a lot more afraid of failing my kids.”
Chiba finished his drink and poured another, then he sat back and studied Fix for a long, quiet time. A slow smile formed on his face. “I’m not sure I can remember the last time I was impressed by personal integrity.”
“Um… thanks?”
“But I like you. I like the moves I saw downstairs. I like the fire I see in your eyes. And I even like the fear I see there. Ruthless fighters are a dime a dozen. They’re entertaining in the short term but boring overall. You, on the other hand, might be something else. You’re not fighting because you hate everyone, or because you’re dead inside. No, you’re fighting for love. Not sure I’ve ever seen that before. Certainly not on Gameworld.”
Fix sipped his drink. His pulse had suddenly jumped.
“I want to offer you a fight,” said Chiba.
“Okay,” Fix said neutrally. “Kind of why I’m here, though, isn’t it?”
“I’m not talking about a brawl with one of the lunkheads in the Box of Scorpions. No… I have a special card coming up and I’ve been looking for exactly the right fighter for it.”
“Why is that me?”
“Because I like what I saw today, and I like what I’ve seen in your military record. You are that rare kind of counter-fighter that is a kind of scientist of combat. It’s there in the after-action reports from your SpecOps missions and it was evident in the way you fought Owl. You analyze, you deconstruct and assess, and then you adjust your own fighting style accordingly. That’s an old samurai skill, and it’s very much the way I used to fight. It’s why I won so many times. It’s why I’m good in business, because I study my opponents and can anticipate what they will do, how they’ll move, when they’ll act.”
Fix studied Chiba over the rim of his class as he took a micro-sip. “If you’re talking about asking me to fight a grizzly or some shit, then I don’t see that as a real career opportunity for me. I trip and fall out of an airlock and the insurance company will still pay off to my kids. I don’t need to be humiliated in some stunt match.”
“Stunt match?” echoed Chiba, mildly miffed. Then he shrugged. “Sure, okay, you got me on that. The rubes love them, though.”
“I’m not a rube.”
“No,” agreed Chiba, “but that’s really not the kind of fight I have in mind. No bears, no tigers, no growth-enhanced centipedes. And… I don’t think I want to waste you on mouth-breathers like Helga or the other idiots you’ve been bunking with.”
“Who’s that leave?”
“Not who,” said Chiba, beaming at him. “It’s really more of a what.”
4
“What in the hell is that thing?”
Chiba and Fix stood on a catwalk above the lighted rim of a containment tank. The tank was circular and thirty feet deep with smooth walls and a floor covered with straw and piles of dark green matter that stank like shit. Fix realized it probably was shit, despite the color. There were bones and pieces of torn meat scattered around the pit. No bed, no furniture.
A single figure stood in the center of the pit, staring up at them.
“I have no idea,” said Chiba happily.
“How can you not know? You made it, didn’t you? Or your pet scientists?”
Chiba shook his head. “No, I told you, this isn’t one of my genetic toys. Quite frankly none of us know what this thing is. And isn’t that wonderful?”
“Is it… is it… human?” stammered Fix.
Chiba pointed down at the creature. “Human? That? You tell me.”
The thing was vaguely manlike, in that it had two arms and two legs, a muscular torso, a head and two eyes. Beyond that any resemblance to humanity faltered and died. It stood a little over six feet tall and its limbs were packed with dense, corded muscle. It had skin as pale and mottled as a mushroom. The hands were hideous, with long clawed fingers ending in wicked claws. Fix couldn’t see its face because it wore a helmet of strange design, but braided hair hung like dreadlocks down to its shoulders. The only clothing it wore was a pair of trunks made from dark brown leather and some kind of netting that covered its limbs and massive chest. Some of the netting was torn, Fix could see, and there were green lines, like scars, crisscrossing its body, and from a few of these thin lines a more luminous green oozed.
Chiba noticed him looking at that and said, “Blood. My science guys are having orgasms trying to figure out its chemistry. It’s nothing they’ve ever seen, which makes them all very, very happy. They’re badgering me about whether they’ll be able to publish. Which, of course, they won’t.” He grinned. “Possession of an alien life form is illegal. Even way out here in the rocks. It’s one of the few things all governments agree on.”
“‘Alien’…?”
“It was discovered in the wreckage of a crashed ship on the dwarf planet Ceres,” said Chiba. “They’re terraforming Ceres, you know, doing a nice job of it, too. They’ve found a lot of wonderful mineral deposits and a lot of water ice. More than the surveyors said to expect. But they never expected to find anything as remarkable as this.”
“This is incredible. God, how come everyone doesn’t know about this? This changes… shit, it changes everything.”
“Sure, I could sell it to a government or a museum and make a quick billion. But, let’s be real, that is very small change compared to what I can make with this thing in my stable of fighters.”
Fix shook his head. “If you put this… thing… on a title card everyone’s going to know about it.”
Chiba snorted. “Oh, I have that covered. We can bounce a video signal out to the rim, jog it around a bit and then send it back as if it comes from somewhere outside of anyone’s territory. Our signal boosters are on military grade stealth satellite pods with EMP and explosive failsafes. Trust me, Mr. Fix, I’ve been doing this for a long time.”
Fix nodded. Someone as rich as Chiba had more than technology on his side. He could afford to bribe, threaten or own key people in the agencies that were supposed to regulate or arrest people like him.
They stared down into the pit.
“My people tell me that you will need at least a million to pay for your daughter’s treatment over the next few years. And you’ll need half of that to settle debts and care for your other kids. Round it up for inflation and you need two million. Does that sound fair?”
Fix cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
“If you can last three minutes with our friend down there I will pay you nine million.”
&nb
sp; Fix wheeled around. “What?”
“That is three million per minute. But here’s the kicker, my friend, I want you both alive at the end. Hurt it, break it, I don’t care, but I need it alive because my molecular biologists have a lot of fun things planned with its DNA.”
“What kind of fighter is it? I mean, does it have special skills?”
“It has training,” said Chiba. “It moves like a warrior. It’s incredibly strong and fast, it has excellent reflexes, and it is definitely a killer.”
“Meaning…?”
“Even badly injured and starving it managed to kill seven members of the crew of eleven on the salvage ship that found it. And since I acquired it, I’ve done a few experiments.”
“With people?”
“Not at first. Animals. A cougar, a mountain gorilla. Like that. People came later. Came… and went. Our friend down there seems to enjoy extreme combat. It’s one of his most endearing qualities.”
“Has anyone come close to beating it?”
Chiba shrugged. “In exosuits with military-grade shock rods, yes. Otherwise… well, we’re on the wrong side of the learning curve with him. His injuries are mostly healed, except for a few recent scrapes from our ongoing tests. It’s worth nine million to me to put him in a ring with a fighter with your skill set. Someone who can use his brains as well as his fists. Nine million is nothing to me, but it’s everything to your family, Mr. Fix, and that makes this a fair contract. You were ready to throw your life away against transgenic animals or bio-enhanced fighters. This is single combat of the most basic kind. No weapons, no armor. Only whatever natural gifts you both bring onto the pentangle. This will be the most important fight in the history of… well… fighting. This will be history. And win or lose, you’re going to be the most famous warrior in the solar system. So… do we have a deal?”
PREDATOR IF IT BLEEDS Page 34